Ravinor

by Travis Peck

  “I grabbed something from a cart on the way here. Thank you.”

  “Oh, that is not enough! Breakfast should be ready in moments, I will bring you both a plate,” Mistress Trevan said, refusing Ifo’s attempt to evade her hospitality.

  Beaty kissed her husband lightly on the cheek and set off down yet another opening in the great hallway. Ifo smiled at her back, pleased for his friend’s obviously happy marriage.

  “She will not be dissuaded from seeing you fed.”

  Ifo chuckled. “Well, I could have a little more breakfast.”

  “I guessed as much. I remember your appetite!” Arin slapped him on the back and led him the rest of the way, taking the last opening on the right.

  The den was the size of Ifo’s entire flat. Books lined two of the walls. Another was dominated by a large fireplace. The last wall was made up of a series of windows that let in the morning sun and bathed the den in light.

  “Please sit, friend.” Arin gestured at a chair on the opposite side of the desk where he took his seat.

  Ifo had just settled into the chair when the door opened and Beaty walked in carrying a tray of food. A servant followed her with a pitcher of kof and another of melon juice. The two placed their trays and pitchers down on the table and excused themselves. Both of the men thanked them as they left.

  Arin filled two mugs with kof, while Ifo did the same with the juice.

  The dish set in front of Ifo put the pastries he had eaten on the way there to shame. There were two sweet tarts with a delectable berry glaze, a generous portion of ham, and a fresh stonefruit. The two men tucked into their meals with as much determination as they had done when they were on the trail. Neither of them were inclined to talk while enjoying a good meal. Only when both of their plates were cleared, and they were sipping on their kof and juice, did Arin break the silence.

  “So, you’re leaving soon?”

  “Yes. I have a few things to finish here, and then I will be gone for a fortnight or so,” Ifo explained, not wanting to go into detail. Though Arin suspected that he had a morally questionable profession, Ifo did not want to test his friend’s forbearance by giving him too much information.

  “Trouble?” Arin asked with concern.

  “No, no.” Ifo shook his head, then added, “Just…business difficulties.”

  Arin gave a small grin and wisely chose not to question Ifo further on the matter.

  “I did want to see you before I left, but I also wanted to see if I could ask your guidance on something. Nothing against any law, I assure you.”

  Trevan leaned forward in his chair and gestured at Ifo to continue.

  “I heard something in a common room yesterday that there is a special synod session?” Ifo asked.

  “Indeed, there is. I have actually been asked to be part of the synod,” Arin answered. “It’s no secret. I heard that it’s about ravinors, and since our last…meeting…with the creatures, I find myself more interested in them than ever before. The queen had scheduled a special synod, perhaps a little over a month ago. And she just brought the date of the session up to a few days from now. The purpose is to discuss the growing population of the creatures and the increased attacks throughout the empire. The interesting part is that the legates will be presenting their findings to the queen and the synod. Findings on what exactly, I have not yet discovered.

  “I’ve heard rumors that the legates were all responsible for trying to locate some sort of stronghold that Mon Lyzink had long theorized had to exist. Which would explain how they always seem to come back eventually after we try to eradicate them. Each legate is responsible for searching the lands within their domain. This is all unofficial, though. I was invited to give a testimony of the rising number of ravinor sightings and attacks. Don’t worry, I will not mention your name—either of them. The synod is to be held two days from now. I’m sure I could get you in to view the proceedings. There are a few hundred seats that are open to the public.”

  Ifo managed to speak, though his mind was racing, “I’ll be gone before the synod, I suspect.” How would killing a legate affect the special synod? And why this specific one? Ifo had no idea yet, but he was certain that his contract had been made because of this synod. He was still no closer than he had been to determine who had hired him to do this.

  He was no traitor to his adopted homeland, and he worried that this might be some scheme by the Zhurakites to destabilize Styr somehow. He wanted no part of that; even if he had to hide for the rest of his life, Ifo would not complete such a contract. Of course, his employer had known that, and had honored—as far as he had been able to tell—Ifo’s reluctance to commit a treasonous act. But he was worried that his employer had betrayed him, or was dead, or both. He didn’t dare to ask Arin about the legates, or why the death of one in conjunction with this synod might benefit someone. He did not want to endanger his friend further.

  “Ifo?”

  He came back to the moment at the question from Arin. His attention had wandered as he had tried to find any possible scenario for why this particular legate had to be eliminated that made any sense to him. So far none of them had.

  “Sorry. You were saying?” Ifo said, apologizing for his lapse.

  “Nothing. You just drifted off for a few moments there.”

  “Have you ever been to a special synod like this?”

  “No. I can’t say that I have even heard of one being held before. Though, in my younger days, I did not pay as much attention to such things, and my father would have attended. I was probably off at one of our lumber camps, if one ever had taken place. I’m glad the queen has called it though. It’s past time that we need to take care of this ravinor problem. Once and for all.”

  Ifo nodded in agreement. His one intimate encounter with the creatures had nearly unmanned him—had unmanned him—though he thought he was over the paralyzing fear he had experienced, he still did not ever want to meet one again.

  He stayed and talked about mundane things for another candle, but he could not distract his mind from mulling over his questions. He and Arin shook hands, and Ifo promised—and meant it—that he would stop back when he returned to the capital in a few weeks. As he left the grand estate, Ifo once again took pains to prevent anyone from following him, but he had seen no one.

  He was torn. Ifo had weighed his options, and so far, he had not changed his mind about completing the contract, nor observing his client’s strange requests. He was still ill at ease with it, but he could not justify endangering his life and turning away from his one chance to retire from his profession. The troubled assassin did his best to think of what he needed to do in order to complete his task, instead of wasting any more time on figuring out what fulfilling the contract might mean.

  He still had many details to lock down before this night was over. Ifo had never felt so nervous about a contract. He had also never had a deadline moved up on him, either. Making his way back to his flat, he hesitated if he should even return there, but then waved his concern away. His employer had already found him and was unlikely to kill him before he had even had a chance of carrying out the contract. This time there were no more bags of gold, or notes, at his door.

  Ifo went in and began running through his plans. He no longer believed that he would be able to spare the lurk and the guard, but he would try to prevent both men from dying if he could do so without hindering his own chances of success. He would spend the rest of the day planning. Tonight, he would go out and finish the last contract in his long and unasked for career.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  LERIUS JOLTED AWAKE IN the tub, sending a splash of lukewarm water over the rim and onto the mosaic tile floor. He had drifted off. He looked over and saw—and heard—Hossen snoring away, his head tilted back awkwardly on the hard rim of the tub.

  “Hossen, wake up.”

  Hossen splashed more water out of his tub than Lerius had upon waking.

  “I couldn’t keep my eyes open,” the slowl
y awakening man explained. “I take it you fell asleep too?”

  Lerius nodded. He had no concept of how long he and Hossen had been out. A row of small circular windows showed nothing but darkness outside. He guessed that if they had been in the baths too long, the page would have been sent to rouse them.

  Just as he feared, the water was much cooler than when he had first dipped into the scalding liquid; he started to shiver. He lurched out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist, drying off quickly with the other towel he had brought. He was dry and warm in a few moments. His stomach was growling, letting him know that he needed to take advantage of having hot and hearty meals available to replenish his strength. Lerius waved farewell to Hossen, who was still sitting groggily in the tub.

  Back in his room, he found a new change of clothes laid out for him. Plain, but well-made, breeches were folded on the bed, along with a serviceable tunic and wool cloak. There were also a pair of black leather boots and some wool socks neatly arranged on the floor at the foot of the bed. It was a far cry from what he had been wearing when he had arrived at the Geryn estate. He gratefully donned the new clothes and was reminded how nice it felt to be clean again and to wear freshly laundered garments.

  He heard the door next to his room close and decided to give the innkeeper some time to get changed so they could go back downstairs together. He felt somewhat churlish for falling asleep in the baths after gorging on the platters Lord Geryn had provided, and he wanted to make sure the lord knew of his appreciation.

  A quarter candle later, Lerius heard a knock on his door and opened it. Hossen was standing before him looking more refreshed than the healer had seen him since they had first met. They went downstairs where the page intercepted them at the landing.

  “Gentlemen. Everyone is still in the dining room if you would care to join?”

  Lerius looked at Hossen, and they both nodded. He knew that he could certainly eat again. The page showed them through another series of hallways and several rooms larger than Hossen’s entire inn had been. At the end of one such hallway, the young page opened up the doors wide for their entry.

  The sounds of silverware clinking against plates, and a low murmur of conversation, became loud and clear as the door opened. The table was covered with food and drink. Three crystal centerpieces, carved with the likenesses of rampant stallions, broke up the array of platters, bowls, and trenchers that beckoned to Lerius.

  Lord Geryn greeted them with a polite nod and said, “I see you have risen… We didn’t know how long you were going to be, but we guessed that you would be famished once more. Please join us.” He gestured from the head of the table to two empty chairs to his right.

  Lerius and Hossen took their seats. Lerius saw that Evin and Daeris were both at the table, as well as two women—he supposed one of which was the lady of the house. There was a weathered man even older than the steward who sat opposite from the two newcomers. Two men he had not met before sat on either side of the older gentleman.

  Lord Geryn gave introductions once they had a chance to sit down and pour themselves some wine. “This is my wife, Seray, and her maid, Lara,” he said, pointing out the only two women at the table. Lerius could easily tell which one was the wife of the wealthiest man in the empire. Lady Seray had the look of a woman who always got what she wanted. Her smile seemed false, and her eyes held a certain disdain for those around her that Lerius associated with the extremely wealthy. A look that Lord Geryn lacked—to his credit.

  Whereas the lady of the house was slim and beautiful and bedecked in finery, her maid wore a simple work dress—though of a finer cut than most servants could boast. She seemed to project her mistress’s lack of regard for the two guests and gave a smile as false as that of the lady, but the maid was more overt about it.

  “And across from you is the genius behind our famed stables, Prayg, and on either side of him are his two sons, Petyr and Prestyn.” The three men all nodded politely, and Lerius was surprised he had failed to see the resemblance between the father and his sons. The siblings were both middle-aged, but were younger versions of the man in charge of the well-known stables.

  “Of course, you have already met Evin and Daeris earlier.” The steward and captain both smiled at them as their names were called. One empty chair remained. “My daughter, who you briefly met, will not be joining us,” Lord Geryn said.

  Lara, the maid, gave a barely concealed snort that everyone at the table politely ignored. He had noticed a tightening around Lady Seray’s eyes and at once pitied the young lady for growing up with these two women sitting before him as her female companions.

  Lerius and Hossen, after a gesture of invitation toward the table from the lord of the house, helped themselves to the spread before them. Lerius had to force himself to eat slowly and politely, ignoring his stomach’s urgent request for him to fill it at a more rigorous pace. After a short interval passed, Daeris excused himself when one of his guardsmen came into the room and whispered something in his ear. He begged everyone’s pardon and strode out of the dining room. Lerius hoped it was not urgent, but given the presence of ravinors following them, he expected the interruption was serious.

  Following Daeris’s departure, the two women excused themselves as well. Once they were gone, the atmosphere relaxed markedly, and Prayg and his sons grew animated with a heated discussion about the right exercise duration for stallions prior to a race. Lerius listened intently, enjoying the intra-family conversation that would have been impossible to duplicate without all the shared years between them. He had engaged in such debates with his parents and sister before, and wondered if theirs had been as entertaining to outsiders as this one.

  By the time the debate ended, it appeared that the father had made his point, and his two sons conceded good-naturedly. Every man had a smile on his face by the end, Lerius and Hossen included. Once the mirth had settled, Prayg and his sons finished off their glasses of wine, thanked their lord for the meal and excused themselves to the guests as they retired for the night.

  Once only the lord, steward, Lerius, and Hossen remained, Lord Geryn spoke, “I’m sure you are wondering about the ravinor situation? So far there are signs of them, but not yet close enough to threaten the manor. Daeris and his men will stay vigilant throughout the night, as a precaution, and I have called all the workers into the estate proper where we can defend everyone in case we are attacked.”

  “Thank you, lord,” Lerius said. He spoke for himself and the innkeeper, who seemed oddly tongue-tied around the powerful man. “You have been most kind to two weary travelers, and we can’t possibly express our gratitude adequately for taking us in.”

  “Nonsense,” Lord Geryn said, waving Lerius’s thanks away. “It is our duty to harbor anyone in danger from ravinors. You chose wisely—and responsibly—to seek shelter here. I don’t know of any other village or fort nearby with as many guards as we have on the estate.” The great lord rose from the table, and Evin followed suit. Apparently, they had more business to discuss this night.

  “We will leave you now,” Lord Geryn said, “but please stay here and eat your fill, and help yourself to the wine. The page will see to your needs.”

  “My lord?” Lerius asked before the two men left the dining room. “If anything should happen this night, will you please call upon us, no matter the time? I know you have guardsmen, and I am only a healer and Hossen an innkeeper, but we brought this trouble to you and would help in whatever way we can.”

  Lord Geryn paused, considering, then said, “Good man. We may well have use for a healer before this threat is over. Though we shall hope these creatures do not risk to venture here. We have had the Giver’s own luck deterring ravinors from attempting an attack here for the last few years, and hopefully that luck holds true. But if it does not, I promise you that word will be sent.” With that, the lord and his steward exited the room. The page returned to stand unobtrusively in the corner, awaiting any requests.

  Hossen br
oke his silence now that Lord Geryn was out of the room, much to Lerius’s puzzlement. “This food is delicious.”

  Lerius agreed, chewing a large mouthful now that they did not have to be proper. “Why don’t you speak in front of Lord Geryn?” he asked his companion when his intense mastication allowed.

  Hossen’s face turned red and he spluttered a bit. “I don’t know what you mean?”

  Lerius knew he was lying, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Oh, very well,” Hossen said, quickly relenting. He wiped his mouth and took a deep drink of wine. After the drink, he launched into the story.

  Several glasses of wine later, Lerius was in stitches, his sides ached from the intense laughter—he could not contain his mirth at the innkeeper’s expense. Hossen joined in with a loud chuckle at the recollection. “Do you think he recognizes you?” Lerius asked in between fits of laughter.

  “I hope not!” Hossen said. “But if he does, I will certainly pray to the Giver that he refrains from telling his sister that I’m around.” The innkeeper slapped at the table, making the silverware and plates clatter; he was no longer able to breathe regularly as he laughed so uproariously. It felt good to laugh like this. Lerius finished off his glass of wine and looked to Hossen to see if they should take the lord up on his offer. But the innkeeper wisely shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes as he regained control of himself.

  “I think I am off to bed,” Hossen said as he got up from the chair with a small sigh. If the innkeeper’s body was anything like his own, then it still had a long way to go to feel normal again.

  “Good night, Hossen,” Lerius said. He decided not to have the page open up any more wine, and he said as much to the boy. “I am off to bed, too. Thank you for your help, young sir.”

  The page gave a bow—already he showed improvement in his skills. Lerius assumed the page was just learning his craft. From what Hossen had told him, and what he had gleaned from meeting the man, Lord Geryn did not do a lot of entertaining and his staff reflected that. The healer found himself looking up to the wealthy lord; he certainly was not like anything that he had expected him to be. Lord Geryn still looked to be a man who worked hard and carefully considered decisions from all angles—not just how much he could profit. The proof was in his lands and in his workers. Many lords would not care a whit if their workers lived in nice quarters or cared for their clothing and possessions so long as the gold kept coming in from their labors.